Three-and-a-half years ago I moved back to St Andrews from Edinburgh. There were very good reasons for the move, or so I thought. One was to recover from a broken heart which, like a bone, never quite mended to the same shape it was. Another was to devise a television program. I don't remember the other reasons but I'm sure at the time they made sense. Regardless, the move was always meant to be temporary. A brief retreat to familiar ground to regain my strength and purpose and venture back to the real world and Edinburgh. It was not meant to last as long as it did. But I've realised that while my punctuality is quite admirable when it comes to meeting someone for lunch, or a pint, at the level of life planning it leaves a lot to be desired. It took me seven years to get my degree. My recent London jaunt was only meant to last five months: it lasted ten. I don't even want to mention when I first hoped my book would be finished.
So this short stay in Edinburgh feels long overdue. And hopefully the precursor to something more permanent. There are 4 lovely wine merchants to choose from and the same number of delis. Each has something of interest. I never stop at just one. Bread from Herbie's, a salad from Peckham's, a bottle of burgundy from Raeburn - it's sort of like pick 'n mix for grown-ups. The butcher's brilliant and I'll be trying out the fishmonger before the week's out. Of the two curry houses I have, this evening, discovered which is superior - always useful knowledge. The local pubs need more testing but I've bumped into several old friends, so that shouldn't be a problem.
In other good news, my writer's block left without the fanfare and twisted metal that heralded its arrival. The pages are flowing once again, and there are some big round numbers very close.
Oh. And I've bought a new car.